


a sword by any other name

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Series: A Sword of Darkness, a King of Twilight, and a Mage of Wind [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Angst, Ghirahim is so extra, Hopeful Ending, How it all began, M/M, Slow Burn, across three-or-four different dimensions of time and space., he beginning of the most convoluted and needlessly dramatic relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: Ghirahim is upset, but he isn’t broadcasting it to anyone who will listen. Zant finds this concerningly out of character. When he tries to help his fellow lieutenant, however, he finds the situation to be much more dire than he’d anticipated.





	1. a sword by any other name

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy it’s been a while. I finally caved and wrote a Ghirazant fic. I typed this up on my phone notes at like 12am last night and refined it since then. However, this is my first time writing for this pairing, or for the Legend of Zelda fandom at all, so critiques are welcome. Please let me know what you think, if I should change something, or if I should write more.

Everyone knew Zant could throw a spectacular tantrum. Truly, they were a sight to behold. His breakdowns were practically famous in how utterly over the top they were. A better kept secret, however, was Ghirahim's episodes. They were much less frequent, certainly, but no one could come close to matching him in dramatics. Not even Zant. When something got to Ghirahim, he made sure everyone knew it.

Which was why it struck Zant as... unusual, to say the least, when he found Ghirahim seething alone. Seated on a windowsill in a desolate room in the far corner of their current base of operations. About as far from anyone as he could get while staying within reach of their Master, glaring out the window as if he wanted to melt the glass with his stare. No public declaration about whatever had upset him, no speeches about how he was too good to put up with whatever was going on, no lashing out at whatever person had inconvenienced him... It was unheard of, at least as far as Zant knew.

"Cease your obnoxious staring, twili. Your ogling makes me itch to rip your eyes out." The sword spirit hissed, not looking away from the window. Zant did not stop staring. His large eyes blinked slowly, and he tilted his head curiously.

"You are distressed." He pointed out, rather needlessly but unsure of what else he could say.

"And you are annoying. Shall we uselessly state the obvious all day? I would think a _king_ such as yourself would have better things to do." Such a mocking dig at his title would usually drive the usurper into a blind rage, if it were not so obvious that Ghirahim was merely attempting to rile him up and distract him.

Carefully, he stepped closer.

"Do not ask me what is wrong." Ghirahim warned.

"I don't need to. You had a disagreement with our Master, yes?"

Ghirahim finally looked at him, a violent turn of the head leveling that vicious glare at Zant. His gaze demanded an explanation. 

"That is the only possibility. Otherwise, you'd be talking about it already. He is the only subject on which you exercise caution and discretion." He knew he was right. The sour downturn of the swords scowl told him as much.

"You are an infuriatingly incessant nuisance." The insult rolled right off of Zant’s back. One could not consistently work with Ghirahim without getting used to his particular brand of wretchedness. Zant merely leveled him with an utterly unimpressed look as he spoke.

"What happened, Ghirahim? Surely our Master has not-"

"He isn't my Master." The demon seethed, sounding oddly choked up as he turned his gaze back to the window so his hair would hide his expression. He clearly didn't want the full extent of his distress to show.

Zant was not fooled.

Zant, however, was also alarmed.

"I- What do you mean? Surely your loyalty has not-"

"Of course it hasn't!" He shot up from his spot at the window, eyes flashing as he faced Zant once more. "You should know better than to ask such a thing."

"Then what else could you mean, Ghirahim? Tell me, and perhaps I can be of assistance." His offer only made the demon scoff. Zant sighed. He wasn't sure what was giving him more of a headache, the daylight coming through the window or the man standing in front of it. "At the very least I can lend an ear. Perhaps speaking of your plight will help."

"Doubtful." The resigned tone made Zant's ears twitch. Ghirahim was giving in. The demon brought up a gloved hand, pressing his fingers against his eyes for a moment in frustration. He finally dropped it with a heavy sigh, levelling his companion with a stern glower. "This never leaves the two of us, do you understand? You must swear to tell no one."

"...The Master knows?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall tell no one."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then Ghirahim dropped the bomb.

"... I'm going to die."

Zant's long ears twitched again, more violently. He must have misheard.

"I beg your pardon?"

Ghirahim gave a deep sigh of exhaustion, rolling his eyes. Zant found that terribly unnecessary, but held his tongue.

"What am I, Zant?"

"I don't understand-"

"Answer the question, mage."

"You are a demon."

"What kind." He prompted impatiently, fangs bared in his frustration.

"A... sword. You are a sword demon."

"Correct. And what is a sword without a wielder?" He gave Zant no time to answer. "Nothing. A sword is nothing without a wielder, and I am nothing without a Master. A sword needs a swordsman, and the Master will not wield me."

A shaking hand ran through white hair in distress, his voice trembling.

"He says I am too valuable as a lieutenant. Which, of course I am, I’m brilliant. But as such, he wants me out front leading and not in his hand as a blade. He won't bond our souls. He won't become my Master, and he won't wield my sword. Without someone to do so..." He trailed off.

"You'll die." Zant finished for him, softly. Ghirahim's head dipped, a visible shudder running through him.

"I cannot access my full power, and I will continue to weaken until I cease to exist. Just thinking about it makes me sick. Have you ever heard of something so terrible?"

Zant opted not to answer that.

"Could... could you not find another wielder?" Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, as Ghirahim's head snapped back up with an expression of thunder.

"Who else could possibly be worthy of my perfection?!" He demanded sharply. "Who else could handle my power?! They would need to be a powerful presence, a soul well acquainted with darkness. A powerful user of magic who is also skilled with a blade, and of course they'd need to hold some sort of official position of power, I am far too good a weapon for a mere-"

Ghirahim would have continued, but Zant interrupted. 

"I am a king." He began, and continued before Ghirahim could bring his position into question. "I wield powerful magic, and I specialize in the elements of darkness. My entire being is of the shadows. And I am familiar with a variety of weapons, blades included."

Another moment of silence as Ghirahim regarded him disbelievingly.

"... Usurper, are you seriously telling me that you think you are even the slightest bit worthy of being my Master?" Finally the scowl broke as Ghirahim laughed. "I had no idea your delusions ran so deep! You would _dare_ to suggest binding my soul to yours?!"

Zant could not help but scowl at the peels of laughter, especially as Ghirahim doubled over cackling.

"Fine. Die, then." He snapped, his patience at an end, turning sharply on his heel to leave. Why he had even bothered with this he could not say.

"Wait-" Laughter interrupted the attempt at words. Finally, Ghirahim reigned himself in before Zant could reach the door. "Wait, Zant. Do you understand what you are suggesting?" The demon still sounded far too amused for Zant's preference, and so he refused to turn around and grace him with his full attention.

"Do you understand," Ghirahim continued, voice dropping to a purr that set Zant on edge. "Exactly what such a thing entails?"

The voice got closer. Zant tensed as arms wrapped around him from behind, cold breath brushing against his sensitive ear as lips pressed just behind it, speaking softly. Ghirahim must have used magic to float, Zant noted. He'd be too short for this otherwise. 

"Do you know, my sweet Twilight King, what binding our souls would do?"

A shiver ran along Zant's spine. He took a steadying breath before speaking. He could feel Ghirahim pressed close behind him.

"It would save your life."

He could feel the chuckle in Ghirahim's chest against his back.

"How sentimental. But not what I meant." The chilled form of the sword spirit disappeared from behind him in a sparkle of diamonds, appearing before him far closer than expected. Zant stumbled backward, but Ghirahim pressed forward after him, faces inches apart.

"We would be connected, Zant. In many ways. Our magic, our souls, our minds..." Zant inwardly cursed this entire situation. He wished he had his helmet. He could feel his cheeks flushing. "And, you would have control over me. Could I trust you not to abuse that, _your highness?_ Could you resist the temptation of exploiting that power to the fullest?"

Ghirahim's lips were nearly pressed to his own.

"When others refuse to heed your command... could you resist taking it out on your most loyal subject? What sort of rule would I have to look forward to, _my king?_ " His words were teasing, whispered, but there was a dangerous glint in the demons eyes. It was clear to Zant that the questions were serious.

Ghirahim would be bound to serve him. Of course he wouldn't want to be bound to someone who would use that power to hurt him.

"I think you would find that I am quite the benevolent monarch, when I do not have to fight for my throne." Carefully, he set his hands on Ghirahim's shoulders, easing him away and stepping back. "The offer has been made. If you can find no other solution to your predicament, I will be here. But I will not press."

Ghirahim looked utterly confused, and Zant realized suddenly that there was a part of this that the demon must have severely misunderstood. 

"I do not offer this because I wish to control you, Ghirahim." He clarified gently. "I offer because I am worried for you, and I do not wish you dead."

How strange. The expression on Ghirahim's face looked similar to that of utter devastation. Another peculiarity that Zant could not comprehend.

"You..." The sword spirit began. "That- but-" Ghirahim, at a loss for words? Would wonders never cease?

"I have matters to attend to." Zant cut off his struggle mercifully. "But you are welcome to seek me out if you feel the need." Ghirahim still seemed utterly lost, even as the twili reached the doorway. And so he paused.

"A sword you may be, Ghirahim, but you are no object. You are a person. I have no intention of reducing you to anything less than yourself."

Having said his piece, the Twilight King took his leave. As if he had not just entirely shattered someone's worldview.

Someone not wanting to control and use him? Ghirahim could scarcely wrap his mind around the concept.

But it did bear thinking about. Though, he knew he had already made his decision.


	2. dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a dissonance within him. He believed himself to be superior to all, and therefore no one was worthy of commanding him. But his very being was made to be controlled. He had a compulsion, a need to follow someone’s orders, to have one person that he could be loyal to above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People asked for more, and so I wrote more. I'm literally fueled by praise. Anyway, this is my take on the demon boi. Let me know what you think!

Everything changes. There are no constants in life. The sky is not always blue, the grass is not always green, not all birds fly. Nothing is guaranteed, and the only certainty is that nothing is certain. Everything changes.

Everything except for Ghirahim.

He was not an organic being, and so he did not grow or change naturally. He could do so himself, of course, but if he did not consciously affect his physical form he would remain the same forever. Perfection incarnate, never to be altered. His hair was always flawless, his form was always immaculate, and his makeup was always exquisite. He held himself with confidence and pride.

And his attitude was always, _always_ completely and utterly _wretched._

He was a civil sort of person, certainly. He had manners, he had some semblance of honour, and he carried himself with grace and class. However, that did nothing to curb his temper, his insults, his sarcasm, his need to mock and degrade anyone who might think they could be his equal.

Ghirahim was, in short, a real grade-A bastard. And he knew it.

Which was why he was so completely and utterly baffled. He had been pacing for hours at a time, scowling at nothing and huffing in frustration. It didn't make sense. He didn’t understand, and Demon Lord Ghirahim did not like being confused. He wanted to be ten steps ahead of everyone at all times, at the very _least._ Being even a single step behind simply would not do.

Why in the world would Zant want to help him? Ghirahim had certainly never given him any reason to.

The answer was clear to Ghirahim. The usurper king wanted to own him. He could not keep his kingdom, he had no real subjects, and any previous attempts at conquering anything had ended badly for him. Possessing Ghirahim would allow him to be in complete control of at least one being, and if he knew anything about Zant, it was that he enjoyed being in control.

It made sense. It was a completely logical conclusion. The only reason Zant would offer assistance would be if the results benefited him. Ghirahim would be an asset, of course. A reliable, loyal, attractive, powerful supplicant and an equally wondrous weapon. Not everyone could be blessed with such a glorious thing. And yet…

And yet, something in that reasoning rang hollow. It struck a dissonant chord that rang out to the beat of Ghirahim’s violent pacing. It was the only thing that made sense and yet it wasn’t the case! How was that possible? Curse that thrice-damned twilit fool and curse his insufferable meddling!

_“A sword you may be, Ghirahim, but you are no object. You are a person. I have no intention of reducing you to anything less than yourself.”_

What complete and utter foolishness! What a brazen lie! How stupid did he think the demon to be? How gullible? Ghirahim should have burnt the vocal cords from his throat for such insult! Yet, he hadn’t. Because something about Zant’s offer…

He had made the offer before knowing the extent of the bond. He had offered before knowing how completely Ghirahim would be bound to serve him. That was the impression, at least, but the twili was exceedingly intelligent. It wasn’t a stretch to think that perhaps he had puzzled out the details himself, but with what information? With what clues?

Ghirahim did not want to die. He wasn’t well-acquainted with fear, but when he contemplated the possibility of simply ceasing to exist, of withering away into nothing- The very core of him sang with panic, the waves of it crashing against him until he could scarcely breathe past the feeling. And so far as he could see, Zant was the only way out.

Ganondorf refused. Volga, powerful as he may have been, lacked many of the traits which Ghirahim required in a Master. Zant… Well. He checked every box, if even by technicality. But Ghirahim simply could not picture it. That stretched out piece of taffy, wielding Demise’s dark blade? Preposterous.

Except he would no longer belong to Demise.

Another pang. Grief, this time.

No. He pushed the feeling down. It was useless to him. Demise was gone, reincarnated into a mere shadow of himself with a soul so diluted his connection to Ghirahim was non-existent. Ghirahim had to find a new master, or else follow him into the abyss.

And Zant was the only option.

Even if the Twilit Usurper (Ghirahim refused to entertain the lie of him being a king any longer) did abuse that power, what choice did Ghirahim have? If he was waiting for someone to come along who would not exercise their power over him to the fullest, he’d be waiting forever. And that wasn’t an option.

It was a dissonance within him. He believed himself to be superior to all, and therefore no one was worthy of commanding him. But his very being was made to be controlled. He had a compulsion, a need to follow someone’s orders, to have one person that he could be loyal to above all others.

That should have been Demise. He should never be loyal to any but Demise. But Demise was gone.

Zant truly was the only option.

And so, Ghirahim’s pacing came to an abrupt stop. His eyes narrowed. His hands curled into fists. He allowed himself a final curse at the entire situation, and promptly exited the room.

He had made his decision.


	3. swords that were demons and demons that were swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a child, he could scarcely be found outside of the palace library. If he was not there reading about magic, he was somewhere practicing his magic. Even as he grew and his natural talent became apparent, he sought arcane knowledge with a ravenous hunger that baffled those around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, something I should say here: It drives me absolutely up the wall when a character is written off as “insane.” Not only does it feed into a negative image of the mentally ill, but it simplifies much more complicated issues and takes layers off of a character (in my opinion.) So I don’t want to write Zant off as “insane.” I do, however, find his mood swings, his bouts of mania, his sudden depressions, his sudden movements between the two and his impulse control issues to resemble descriptions of bipolar disorder (manic depression.) I have a history of this in my family and have done my best to represent it respectfully. If you feel for any reason that I have failed to do so, please reach out to me so I can address the issue. HOWEVER I find it important to note that his disorder is NOT what causes his violent tendencies. It causes his mood swings, but the violence is a product of his own frustration and anger. His mental illness is not an excuse and I do not wish to portray it as one.

Zant had been in the library for hours. Their keep had quite the extensive collection, particularly of magical texts, and he frequently found himself there researching various sorts of light world magic so as to not be caught unawares. However, he currently could not find anything that he was looking for.

He was sat at a table, surrounded by pillars of books that had failed him. No matter how long or how carefully he read, however, he simply could not find information on beings such as Ghirahim.

Books on demons had nothing on sword demons, books on swords had nothing on demon swords. Books on binding magic had many spells that bound the souls of two mortals, or of… various other disturbing mixtures of souls, but nothing on swords that also had souls. Or souls that were also swords. Or-

His headache had returned.

It could not be blamed on light, this time. The sun had long since set, and he had no need to fetch a candle. He could see much better in the darkness.

His current mission would likely be much quicker if he could focus on the matter at hand. But it had been years since he’d had the time to properly read up on magic, and even longer since he strictly had a need to do so. Researching for combat purposes was one thing, but Zant had forgotten the true allure of academia.

As a child, he could scarcely be found outside of the palace library. If he was not there reading about magic, he was somewhere practicing his magic. Even as he grew and his natural talent became apparent, he sought arcane knowledge with a ravenous hunger that baffled those around him.

It used to make his mother quite sad, he remembered, that he smiled more at ink on a page than he did at her.

If she had hated it so much, perhaps she should have given him a reason to smile.

But she hadn’t. No one had. So, he had found one himself.

He had found a friend in his books, and his current reading felt very much like a reunion. He had allowed his hands to be exposed simply to feel the pages as he turned them. His long ears twitched at every rustle of paper, and he found himself smiling more than he had in- Well, he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled like that.

Even if he could not find the information he needed, he could not possibly consider this a waste of his time.

Still, it would be quite problematic if Ghirahim came to him with a decision before he was able to properly educate himself on the matter at hand. Zant was a brilliant strategist, and any proper tactician knew it was vital to accrue as much information on the situation as possible before executing a plan, lest one be caught in an unwinnable fiasco. He refused to put himself in yet another doomed dilemma. That was not something he would allow. Not this time.

~~He should never have let her live. If he had been able to bring himself to simply kill her, he’d still be ruling. That one act of mercy, that one sentimental decision, cost him a throne. Cost him his life.~~

And so he needed to know everything about Ghirahim’s problem. He needed to familiarize himself with every detail of the binding of a sword-spirit and its master. He had to know what the ritual would involve, what the results would be, any potential side-effects or consequences. He had to know if this was truly something he would do. Though he wanted to help his co-lieutenant, he would not do so at the cost of his own abilities or ambitions.

A part of him wanted to let Ghirahim die. A part of him screeched about the many insults Ghirahim had heaped upon him, of the disrespect the demon had shown him, of the many times Ghirahim had dismissed his claim to the throne. That part wanted to let him die. Not just that, but to ensure he suffered as much as possible.

Zant sighed, tiredly dismissing those thoughts. If he were in a worse mood it would be harder to deny such impulses, but as it was they were simply an annoyance. He knew, logically, that Ghirahim was like that with everyone. In fact, the very few times that Ghirahim had complimented his magical ability or his tactical planning were proof that the demon held him in higher regard than he did most others.

He also suspected that Ghirahim’s bad attitude was partially defensive, but that was simply a theory. One he’d keep to himself, because he enjoyed keeping his head attached to his body.

~~They had asked him if he wanted to be beheaded. If he wanted to be tried for treason. If he was actively seeking to be arrested for crimes against the crown. They wouldn’t listen. His own family wouldn’t listen to a word he said, wouldn’t even consider the points he made, threatened his life if he would not hold his tongue. But how can one simply stay silent in the face of injustice? How could any of them watch their people and culture fade into nothing, and simply allow it? How could they claim to be the rulers of a people they clearly cared nothing for? How was it that he was the villain? How was he in the wrong? Maybe it would have been better if they’d simply killed him. Maybe it would have been better if-~~

He was tired. Having to stay awake during days had ruined his sleeping patterns- not that they had been particularly healthy in the first place. It occurred to him that he should rest. He always tended to become less rational when he was tired-

~~He tried to appeal to her. She had always been more open to his ideas, to concerns for their people. It had been days since he had slept, and he should have waited until he was rested. As it was, he sounded like a rambling fool. She proclaimed him to be mad, and really he probably had sounded quite mad at the time. But how could she not see any truth to his words? If she had, if she thought for even a moment that the threat to their people was as real as he said, then she had a responsibility to help him fix it. But she had not. He had to act alone. Who could possibly sleep with such a burden upon their shoulders?~~

-and it would be wise for him to get some sleep before it got to be too much-

~~She had betrayed him. She had brushed him off. She had betrayed his trust, his love, his confidence in her, his admiration, and for what? For the crown? Then she had the nerve to call him a traitor for trying to do what was right, for trying to help his people, for trying to keep an apathetic ruler from the throne. She called him greedy. She called him selfish. She said he cared for no one but himself, but what of her? Did she care about him? Had she ever? He loved her, he loved them all so much and what had it gotten him? What did it matter? He was not the traitor, she was the traitor, they were all cursed, wretched, _uselesstreasonousselfishgreedypathetic **unworthy-**_~~

...Yes. Yes, he needed to sleep. He needed sleep now, before it got any worse. He could feel his runes burning with the need to unleash his frustration on something. Such behaviour would be unseemly of a king. He closed the book before him, sighed heavily, and watched as the piles dissolved in the embers of twilit magic, reappearing on the shelves nearby. It wouldn’t do to disrespect the books by leaving them wheresoever he pleased.

Some rest would do him good. The previous conversation with Ghirahim had left him stressed, and the demons… advances, as insincere as they had been, had left him flustered. Now he had been awake for… how long? He knew himself well enough to know that was a recipe for disaster.

Some sleep, and then he would get back to the matter at hand.

Finally, he stood and-

“I thought I might find you here.”

He turned quickly to find that cursed demon sitting upon a bookshelf, looking over one of the tomes Zant had just put away.

“A Complete Anthology of Demonkind.” Ghirahim read the title with a laugh. “Complete and utter nonsense. I’ve read it. It’s pure speculation, by a scholar with more pride than intelligence.” He leapt down from the shelf, landing softly on his feet and advancing towards Zant with swaying hips. How unsubtle. “Now, why on earth would you be researching demons, Zant?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.” Even to his own ears, Zant sounded as tired as he felt, voice low and clearly irritable.

“Oh, but where would be the fun in that?”

“I am not here to amuse you.”

“And yet you do such a wondrous job of it, my twili.” Ghirahim was right in front of him now, grinning up at him like-

Ugh, he couldn’t even think of a proper analogy for this creature.

“We can speak later, demon. But not right now.” He tried to pass him, but of course Ghirahim could not make it easy to do so, stepping in his way.

“And why not? Your kind thrive after dark, yes?”

“Typically, yes, but I’ve been up for many days now and I don’t care what time it is, I just want to sleep. Get out of my way or-”

Ghirahim’s ears twitched visibly, eyes lighting up in a particularly unpleasant manner.

“Or what?” He hissed, grin sharp at the edges.

“Or I will become increasingly unpleasant and… difficult.” That caused Ghirahim to pause and consider him for a moment.

“...So, you are aware of your-”

“Yes, I am very aware of the states I can sink into.” Zant closed his eyes with a sigh, trying his very best to remain composed. “Being aware of it does not make it easier to put an end to them. I can take certain preventative measures, but some things are beyond even my control.

“And here I thought you were completely oblivious!”

How could he possibly be oblivious to something that frequently made life a living hell?

“I am not. Now move.” Honestly, he felt he could sleep standing up at that moment.

He expected Ghirahim to be more difficult. To argue and push and try to make him snap. He was dreading it. He didn’t like losing control of anything, particularly himself. It was such a disconcerting feeling, and often left him exhausted and in pain, and in quite a lot of trouble. To his surprise, however, Ghirahim moved aside.

“As my king commands.” He teased, and it was almost enough. It could have made Zant snap, if only his tone had been a bit more mocking. As it was, it seemed almost like… good-natured teasing. Their master had tried to explain that to Zant once, that such teasing could be a form of camaraderie in the world of Light. Zant still did not understand why or how, but he knew that it existed. That was enough for now.

“Thank you. Goodnight.” He barely had the energy to utter such a parting. He certainly didn’t have the wits about him to process Ghirahim being decent when he could have been…. Well, frankly, he could have been an absolute prick about it.

He’d ruminate on it in the morning.

(Though, he hated that he had to sleep through the night. He hated that he’d miss out on the twilight, and wake only to the glaring, hateful sun.)

(But there were worse things to wake up to. Other glaring, hateful things that would be worse.)

(So he would sleep, glad that it was only the sun he’d have to face, and nothing else.)


	4. assumed privacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you will not leave my room, at least get off of my bed.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Well, that’s certainly the first time I’ve had someone try to get me _out_ of their bed,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re gettin’ there, kids. Slowly but surely. I promise they’ll like each other eventually. If this keeps up I might need to tag this fic as slow burn... How did a half-assed one-shot turn into this? Anyway please lemme know what you think! Comments are always appreciated and I love hearing from all of you! ♥

The sound Zant made upon waking was glorious, in Ghirahim’s humble opinion. He wasn’t certain if all Twili had such a ridiculous vocal range, but the mix of sleep-drenched lowness and surprised squeaking mixed together made for such a peculiar and entertaining blend. Truly, no one was more amusing to toy with.

“Why are you in my room?!” Ugh, but that shrillness was absolutely ear-piercing. Ghirahim scowled from his seat at the covered window of Zant’s room, ears twitching in irritation.

“Well where _else_ could we have a conversation in absolute privacy?”

“Many other places! It’s a very large keep, Ghirahim!” Zant pulled his blankets further up as if to cover himself, even though he was completely clothed. Really, who wore that many layers to bed? Was the supposed king just that insecure? Regardless, Ghirahim waved off Zant’s suggestion as if it were inconsequential. Which it was.

“Details, details.”

There was a moment during which Zant caught his breath from his surprise, and as the situation sunk in he closed his eyes and fell back onto the bed, his hands releasing the blankets to cover his face with his sleeves.

“I don’t know why I am surprised by this.” He groaned, switching from deafeningly high to shiveringly low in such a small amount of time that it took the demon a moment to process that the same person was speaking.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised by it either. By all accounts, it’s to be completely expected of me.” He couldn’t even try to keep the amusement from his tone, even as the other man dropped his arms and glared at him.

“Leave.”

“Oh, I think not. Not yet, at least.” Before Zant could become completely enraged by such defiance, a book appeared in a splash of monochrome diamonds, landing in his lap as he sat up in bed. “You were looking for information on the nature of a sword demons bond, yes?”

“Well- Yes, I was but-” He picked up the book with sleeve-covered hands. Ghirahim’s eyes went straight for those hidden hands. What could be so obscene about them that the twili would have them covered even in the privacy of his own room?

Well, assumed privacy.

“If the book I looked over yesterday was any indication, everything you read was absolute nonsense.” Ghirahim stood from the window, making his way over to the bed and seating himself at the edge, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands. “That, however, was written by yours truly. You’ll find no better read in this entire realm.”

Zant finally looked up from the book. It was usually hard to tell his expression, due to the strange lines on his mouth, but he was frowning so hard it was difficult to miss.

“This tells me nothing.” He announced, bafflingly, and somehow completely unimpressed. “If you will not leave my room, at least get off of my bed.”

“Well, that’s certainly the first time I’ve had someone try to get me _out_ of their bed, but- Wait, _what?_ ” The sword demon’s tone was closer to outrage than confusion. “What do you mean it tells you nothing!? You haven’t even read it!”

“You said you wrote it?” Zant confirmed, ignoring the innuendo and sounding utterly unimpressed with all of Ghirahim’s impressiveness. Which, in Ghirahim’s opinion, was utterly unimpressive in and of itself. Almost to the point that it was impressive. “If so, then it is useless to me.”

“How _dare_ you-!”

“Ghirahim, if I wanted information from you on the matter, I would have sought you out and simply asked you. I am trying to find an objective, academic analysis on the matter-”

“Well then,” Ghirahim seethed, taking pleasure in paying back the self-proclaimed king for the previous interruption. “You’ll be searching for quite a while. There is no such text.”

“But how can that be?”

“Because there are only two such beings in existence, you insufferable-” The demon stopped, took a breath, and exhaled slowly. This would get them nowhere. As much as he wanted to rip those wide, ogling eyes out of the idiots head-

Oh, that image was just so satisfying. It did wonders for dispelling his anger.

“Look. Zant.” He tried again. “Dearest, _darling_ Zant.”

“Please don’t call me-”

“If you would read the book I so painstakingly wrote for you,” a blatant lie. He’d written it ages ago out of pure vanity, but who kept track of such things? Besides, knowing Zant he’d probably feel so touched that someone did such a thing for him that he’d read it out of self-imposed obligation. “You’d know this. But since you so rudely refuse, I’ll simply tell you.”

“May I have a moment to dress myself properly first?” The twili deadpanned, clearly not expecting an answer at all.

“... You’re wearing about three layers right now, how is that not- You know what? No. Just listen. There are only two sword-spirits in existence. Me, and that dancing blue annoyance on the other side. You will find no book on our kind written by anyone but us, and I sincerely doubt she’s ever bothered with such a thing. It would be an ‘inefficient use of time.’” He mimicked her mockingly. “So you may as well just ask me your questions.”

“How will I know if you are being truthful?” Bright orange eyes narrowed, and Ghirahim grinned disconcertingly in response.

“Does the Twilight King believe he can be so easily deceived?”

“The Twilight King believes you are a demon, and demon’s are by nature beings of deception. Also, if you’re trying to use my pride against me, do try being less obvious about it. It’s painful to watch.”

“Painful to watch? If you’d like something painful, Usurper, I’m sure I could find some way to provide you with ‘ouchies.’”

“I only said that _once-!_ ” Zant shrieked, face flushing in his mortification.

“Yes, and that means you said it at all!”

“Ghirahim, I am going to-”

“Oh _yes_ , Zant, _please_ tell me _exactly_ what you’re going to do to me.” The demon purred, and it was only then that either of them noticed how close they had gotten. Ghirahim was practically straddling him.

Narrowed orange eyes flashed with something Ghirahim had never seen in them before. Something that made his breath catch and his heart race.

Then he was being flung off the bed by twilight magic, and even as the demon landed on his feet, that was just a mood killer.

Finally, Zant got out of bed, standing at his full towering height. Ghirahim was unintimidated, arms crossed and teeth bared in a scowl. But Zant did not make a move against him. He simply asked:

“Will bonding to you cost me my power? My magic?”

The question was so unexpected that it took Ghirahim a moment to process that it had been asked at all. He had expected a threat, or more arguing, or a demand to leave the room. He had also expected a shrill, flustered tone. Not something so deep and, frankly, attractive.

“No, of course not. If anything, you would be more powerful than ever before.” He laid it out as if it were obvious, which in his opinion, it was.

“Is there any cost to me at all?”

“You lose nothing, mage. No power, no independence- nothing. There is no risk to you at all. The only person this endangers is myself.”

“Which brings me to my next question.” Zant began, doing something that yet again took Ghirahim completely by surprise. Approaching him. Slowly, step by step, closing in. “Why, if binding yourself to someone puts you at their mercy, if it puts you at such a risk of abuse and retribution from them, if it puts you in a position where you are unable to fight back against them,” he finally came to a stop before the other man. Oddly, Ghirahim noted, there was no anger in those large eyes. Just… calmness. Calculated inquisitiveness. Something that told him, no matter how he answered the question, Zant would learn something about him.

“Why, if all of that is true, would you begin so intentionally antagonizing me the moment you learn I may be your next master?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were never this unbearable before.” The usurper continued. “You could be… difficult, yes, but it was never as deliberate as it has been since our recent discussion. Ever since my offer, you almost seem to have been trying to bait me into-”

Dread pooled in Ghirahim’s stomach when those eyes widened. Really, how could such large eyes get any wider?

“...I see.” Zant finished, answering his own question. Something beneath Ghirahim’s skin itched under the scrutiny, and he just barely held himself back from blatantly attacking his co-lieutenant.

“And what is it that you see, twili?” He ground out, fangs bared dangerously. Zant remained completely unaffected. How irritating.

“You are trying to raise my ire, in some attempt to prove to yourself how cruel of a master I would be.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing once more. “But I cannot imagine why.”

“Then perhaps you are _wrong._ ”

“No. I am not.” There was no defensiveness in his tone. Just serene certainty. Ghirahim felt almost sick with anger. “Are you anxious?”

“Of course not! You think I’m afraid of you?” The demon scoffed.

“I think you’re afraid of being powerless.”

“I don’t much appreciate being called a kettle, pot.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just- Look.” Ghirahim tried to take a breath. It came out as more of a growl. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to be prepared.”

“Why are you so convinced there is anything to prepare for?”

“Of course there is.” He snapped.

“I have no plans to hurt you, Ghirahim.” The calming tone he took was absolutely infuriating. The entire conversation just made Ghirahim want to wring his ridiculously long neck.

“You don’t have to be _planning_ it, you inane fool! No one _plans_ to lash out in a rage!” Ghirahim insisted, lashing out in a rage.

“Is that what you believe will happen?” There was a softness in Zant’s tone. It simply raised Ghirahim’s ire all the more.

“It’s what I _know_ will happen! I’ve seen you on the battlefield, Zant. I’ve seen you lose your temper. I’ve seen you irrational, screaming, striking out at whatever is closest to you! Is it such a stretch to think that thing might be me!?”

“Has it ever been before?” There was a beat after that, a pause wherein Ghirahim tried to puzzle out the question.

“What?” He was taken aback, effectively disarmed in his confusion.

“Ghirahim, we’ve fought together before. You’ve often been right next to me during such times. Have I ever tried to hurt you?”

Silence filled the room, louder than anything Ghirahim could have said in response.

The demon was livid. Absolutely incensed, because Zant was _right._ His point was _valid._ He made _sense,_ and that was absolutely unforgivable in that moment.

“...I’m leaving.” Ghirahim finally announced, turning sharply on his heel and storming towards the door.

“Finally.” Came the dry reply behind him.

Perhaps it was foolish to worry about Zant harming him, he decided. 

It was becoming increasingly apparent that he’d likely strangle the self-proclaimed king before any such thing could happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I never abuse the italics option more than when I write for Ghirahim lol


	5. playing for keeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tonight,” came a voice from beside him. Zant barely inclined his head in acknowledgement, but Ghirahim continued. “If all goes well, we should do the ritual tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Charli can't write fights. I tried to blend in some game elements, like going to help your allies to restore their health, and also pulled some of Zant and Ghirahim's lines directly from the game dialogue.  
> As always, thank you all so much for your support! Hearing your opinions is literally what keeps this thing going. Things are gonna start picking up next chapter... Hopefully the wait won't be as long for it. Speaking of, sorry this one took so long!

It wasn’t strange that he felt safer behind his helmet. Such things were meant to keep one safe. It was significantly stranger than Zant felt more secure in situations that would require him to wear it. He felt more at ease leading men to battle than he did sitting down to have tea with them.

Though, if given the choice, he’d take tea by himself over either option.

They were aligned, three in a row. Volga to the far right with his lesser draconic followers, Ghirahim in the center with his moblins in tow, and Zant on the left with bulblins shifting in anticipation behind him. They were eager for a battle, and he was determined to give it to them.

The master of all three armies stood before them, facing the vast desert ahead. The heat bore down on them in waves. Zant, who was most unaccustomed to such heat, felt like he was being boiled alive, but that didn’t matter.

Finally, Ganondorf turned to face them.

“I trust my lieutenants can secure the area on their own.” He addressed Ghirahim and Zant directly, eyes burning brighter than the desert sun. “You know what is expected of you. I do not want to win. I want to _destroy_ them.”

“It would be our greatest pleasure, master.” Ghirahim assured in a tone that dripped with uncontained delight. Zant merely nodded his agreement.

“Then I leave it to you. Do not disappoint me, or I’ll make you wish you’d stayed dead.”

With that, their commander mounted his dark horse and rode quickly away, likely to face the Hero and Princess directly.

“Tonight,” came a voice from beside him. Zant barely inclined his head in acknowledgement, but Ghirahim continued. “If all goes well, we should do the ritual tonight.”

The way he licked his lips after saying that was entirely unnecessary, in Zant’s opinion. 

“...If all goes well.” Zant agreed lowly, facing front again. “For now, this is our main concern.”

“Of course.” The demon turned to the dragon stood beside him, awaiting orders impatiently. Oh, how it must have eaten at Volga to be ranked below them. “I say Volga takes the east, you take the west, and I take the north.”

“Wonderful.” He could feel his runes lighting up beneath his clothing, his magic singing beneath his skin. The moment the assent to the plan passed his lips, Volga was off like a shot to the east with a battle cry, eager to rip into something in his frustration. Ghirahim’s laughter echoed in the stagnant air of the wasteland around them as he too took off.

Zant wasted no time. He summoned his scimitars, and off to the west he went.

The Hylian knights were laughably incompetent. They weren’t worth his time and could hardly hold their own against his minions. He ran right by them. The gorons had larger numbers and sturdier frames, but still presented no threat. When they obstructed his path, he threw them aside with his magic and carried on.

Though, admittedly, it was amusing to watch rocks turn into ragdolls.

The keep was the priority. The forces around them were inconsequential if their numbers were kept in check. If he could secure the keep he’d have a sturdier hold on the area than he could possibly get simply clearing out the area around it.

He spotted his opponent immediately upon entering the keep. Bright blue hair would be hard to miss against the monochrome landscape, and her outfit was hardly subtle. Nor was her magic. She needed a book for her spells? How cumbersome. 

It was as the fighting began that things started to blur. That was typical for him, something he was used to. He felt himself spinning like a top, felt his weapons cutting into organic beings, felt the few blows that landed on him. But it was automatic for the most part. Disposing of grunts like the gorons barely took a fraction of his attention.

Though, he did have to stop to catch his breath a few times.

Dodging the sorceress’ spells was more difficult. She almost got him a few times with those lightning strikes, but overall he found her magic utterly uninspired. She was copying spells from a book. Books were lovely for learning, but once you truly understood magic you should harness it, make it your own. Spells from a book… Well, they simply couldn’t compare to the raw power running through him.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he took her on in earnest. Inelegant her magic might be, but she was quick and a very intelligent fighter. He was glad for that. If a king was to be drawn into the battlefield then at least it should be against a foe worth his time.

“Help!” The sorceress suddenly called. “I need some help over here!”

No sooner had those words left her mouth, another streak of blue was dancing across the sand.

“Are you trying to run away? I simply cannot allow it!” Ghirahim growled, not far behind. Too slow, however, as the two blue warriors met up, one helping the other to her feet. Ghirahim was seething as he came to a stop beside Zant. “How annoying.”

The dancer began to circle them, twirling in elegant patterns as the sorceress quickly turned pages in her book. Automatically, both men adjusted, standing back to back to face both foes.

“Did you capture the Northern Keep?” Zant asked as he deflected the first spell with one of his own.

“Of course I did, and I would’ve killed an enemy captain as well, only she decided she wanted to play cat and mouse.” The clashing sound of metal on metal sounded behind the shadow mage, hinting at swordplay, though Ghirahim did not sound the least bit winded by it.

“Excellent.” The reply was distracted, as Zant was quite preoccupied as he gathered his power. The midday sun drained him, but he certainly had enough left in him to dispose of this half-rate magician. Honestly, it would be preferable if Ghirahim could lure his counterpart over, so Zant could take out both at once-

No sooner had that thought occurred to him, he heard Ghirahim chuckling behind him, following by a sudden storm of sound as blow after blow knocked the blue spirit towards her friend. At that moment, two copies of himself manifested, a monstrous orb of pure twilit magic forming between the three of them. The two heros were stunned in place, watching with mounting horror.

Zant felt Ghirahim settle just behind him, heard him laugh in genuine mirth, and slammed the orb into the earth below.

The hero sorceress’ spells had a blinding light about them. But Zant’s magic was quite different, and the darkness that it emitted consumed them all for a brief moment of sweet, blissful, frigid twilight, leaving Zant feeling refreshed and energized even as it dissipated.

As the smoke cleared, he realized he was giggling. He was almost embarrassed before he realized no one would be able to hear it, muffled through his helmet and outdone by Ghirahim’s mocking mirth.

“Not even bodies left behind. It’s nice to have someone competent on my side for once.”

“Yes, my power is indeed something to behold.”

“Mm, I’d make some comment about humility, but I never did believe in such things.” Finally, the two of them managed to tear their eyes from the wreckage around them to face each other.

“We should make sure Volga has not failed.” The Twilight King decided.

“Yes, and if he did we should be sure to punish him accordingly.”

Truly, it sounded as if that was what Ghirahim would prefer.

Zant didn’t doubt that for a second.

\--

The day was won and the area was secured. Ganondorf was pleased, Ghirahim had his thirst for blood (momentarily) sated, Volga got a good fight out of it, and Zant?

Well. Zant was _really_ looking forward to taking a nap.

Following a debriefing with their master, he planned to head straight to his room to rest. It wasn’t the magic that had drained him. He had plenty of that to spare. But that cursed sunlight... And the heat! It was enough to kill people from the land of Light, let alone a Twili dressed in about five layers with a giant metal helmet.

“Have you forgotten our agreement, darling?” Came a voice behind him. His hands curled into fists beneath his sleeves. He could not stand being interrupted when he truly wanted something, and he really wanted that nap.

“I have told you so many times not to call me that.”

“Hm? Truly?” He turned to find Ghirahim exaggeratingly tapping his chin in thought. Zant tried his absolute best not to literally growl at him. That would be terribly undignified. “That’s odd, I simply cannot recall…”

It was a losing battle. The growl was already rising in his throat.

“What do you want, demon.” His patience truly was at an end, but Ghirahim did not seem intimidated. In fact, he seemed gleefully amused.

“I simply want you to make good on our agreement! A king should be a man of his word, you know. Though I suppose a usurper, by nature of the act of treason, is not. So it really depends on which you truly are. A true king, or a treasonous usurper?” The demons eyes were sharp, cutting through the dark of the hallway. Zant felt just as drained as he had been beneath that dreaded sun.

“You always try to manipulate me like this, but all you ever achieve is being absolutely infuriating.” 

“Oh, I succeed sometimes. You just don’t notice.” 

A bluff. … Right?

“But regardless,” Ghirahim continued. “We agreed that if all went well today we would perform the ritual. Have you truly forgotten?”

Yes. Yes he had.

“No. No, I have not. I simply have other things to do at the moment.”

“Oh?”

“Things that are none of your business.”

“ _Oh._ ” The sword spirit repeated, drawn out and intrigued. “Fun things?”

“I just told you it wasn’t your business.” Why, even when he was exhausted and cranky and desperate to be alone and asleep, _why_ did he entertain this man? Why did he stand there and feed into his banter? “Enough. We can perform the ritual tonight, after sundown.”

“How romantic.” Ghirahim’s tone was completely deadpan, bored, keeping a straight face, but Zant couldn’t help but turn away. He could feel the teal rushing to his face.

“I suppose you have no plans to tell me what the ritual consists of beforehand?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely.”

“Right. Goodbye, Ghirahim.”

Thankfully, he absconded before the urge to throttle his co-lieutenant got the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen Zant is a little tired a lot of the time. Also, I don't hate Lana. Zant just isn't a fan of Light world magic.


	6. all the rituals between you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needed Zant angry with him. He needed Zant irritated. He needed Zant to want to kill him. It was the only way the ritual could be done properly.
> 
> The fact that it was amusing was just a bonus, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had to use the Hemingway editor for this, because Ghirahim is such a pompous, flowery fuck in his descriptions of literally everything that I needed some way to make his nonsense readable. There's purple prose and then there's whatever the fuck Ghirahim does. Anyway. Rest in fucking pieces, Zant.

Sleep seemed terribly inconvenient, in Ghirahim’s opinion. Having such a limited store of energy and needing to shut down for hours at a time every day? Being completely unconscious and unaware of ones surroundings for such stretches of time? How did organic beings live through that? It could not be conducive to survival.

For example, he’d been lying beside Zant in bed for a good three hours, and the twili showed no awareness of his presence! Ghirahim could have killed him and Zant would have been completely helpless! It was pathetic.

He was not there for the sake of being there. He’d intended to wait for Zant to wake up. After five hours of sleep and the setting of the sun surely he'd rise soon enough. 

That was not the case. Three hours later and he was still dead to the world around him.

Ghirahim would not suffer such boredom for much longer. Immortality only granted so much patience.

Finally, he rose from the bed, causing Zant to stir. At least that was a sign of vague awareness. He stared down at the twili, arms crossed, considering his options. Glancing around the room, his eyes landed on the covered windows. If the sun were still out he’d tear down the curtains and let the sunlight do his work for him. As it was… He’d have to be a bit more hands on.

Or, rather, feet on. Legs on? Either way, he lifted one of them and, with a swift kick, launched Zant off of the bed.

Oh, but that shriek was _delicious._

The demon dodged a blind blast of twilit magic, the iridescent darkness laced with panic. He couldn’t help but lick his lips. He could practically _taste_ the fear and it was positively _delectable._

“ _Ghirahim!_ ” A high-pitched squeal, like a child throwing a tantrum. Or a stuck pig.

“Yes?” He serenely examined his cuticles, rather than his unwilling companion. His nails were _immaculate._

“ _Have you no sense of boundaries?!_ ” A shadow loomed over him, seething. Finally lifting his gaze, Ghirahim noted with mild interest that Zant seemed to have long, needle-sharp fangs. How had he never noticed those before? He could rip someone’s throat out with those teeth.

Ghirahim found himself speechless for a moment, captivated by those bared blades.

_Gorgeous._

A low growl from deep within Zant’s chest pulled him back to the present, and he regained his air of disinterest.

“I do comprehend boundaries, yes. I simply do not care for them. You know, it is still very odd to think that you have hair.”

That seemed to confuse Zant enough to make him stop screaming.

“...That I have hair.”

“Yes, you always have it covered. Understandably. The style is atrocious.” He tossed his own hair in emphasis. Fury darkened those bright eyes once again.

“Ghirahim…” Zant’s voice dropped in warning. Combined with those exquisite teeth, it sent shivers down Ghirahim’s immaculate form.

~~If he thought for even a moment that Zant would be open to the idea, he would very much like to ruin that awful hairdo. Grip it in his hands, fingers clutched as they kissed. Ghirahim’s tongue running along the pointed ends of those dangerous fangs. Would Zant be a submissive lover? Or would he want to have Ghirahim beneath him, subject to his every whim? The demon was unsure which idea he enjoyed more: Slowly and torturously taking the usurper apart, or being utterly undone by the King of Twilight.~~

“Are you even _listening_ to me?!” Zant’s voice heightened in pitch, sharp tone cutting through Ghirahim’s reverie.

“No.” He answered honestly, simply.

“ _You-_ ”

“You do know we have a ritual to do, yes? We don’t have all night.”

“I am utterly lost as to why you keep trying to make me want to strangle you. You know I’ll be able to do so once this ritual is complete.”

“Perhaps that is how I like it.” He suggested with an elegant shrug of one of his perfect shoulders, reveling in the flush that brought to the other mans face. “Come along now. We have quite the distance to tread.”

He turned to leave the room without waiting for a reply, smirking as he heard Zant hurrying after him.

“A distance? Is there a specific location where this ritual must be performed?”

“Not particularly. But we must be out of earshot of the keeps. We cannot afford to have any interruptions.”

“But what if the master has need of us?”

“That is why I want to do it tonight, after a victory such as today. We have conquered this desert, and our foothold here is strong. The enemy has been weakened and we have gained strength. This is the safest time for us to do this without worry of compromising the campaign. ”

“You still have not told me of what this rituals consists.”

“Nor do I plan to. You will see soon enough, my impatient king.” Oh, he knew he was pushing his luck.

That was the whole point.

He needed Zant angry with him. He needed Zant irritated. He needed Zant to want to kill him. It was the only way the ritual could be done properly.

The fact that it was amusing was just a bonus, really.

He took them out of the keep, not sparing the guards a glance. They were Ganondorf’s right-hand men. No one would question them. Not even as he led them over the chilled sand of the desert at night. Being a literal sword, Ghirahim was unbothered by the cold. He could process temperature insofar as knowing what it was at the time, but it did not particularly affect him.

He looked back at Zant, to see how he fared in the freezing desert hellscape. To his genuine surprise the twili had a smile of utter contentment, eyes narrowed and near-shut like a cat basking in sunlight. Perhaps this was the equivalent for twili. Basking in the chilled darkness of a desert night was likely as close to home as Zant could get in this realm.

Ghirahim had to wonder, did Zant ever feel homesick? As much as the man hated that his people had been cast out and locked away, he did seem to have a genuine love of the Twilight Realm. The Gerudo desert during the day must have been a shocking difference, and he was forced by their masters schedule to sleep through the familiar nights.

In an unknown land, away from his people, apart from his culture, and everything he had ever fought for.

Quite frankly it was impressive that he held it together as often as he did.

“This is far enough.” Ghirahim stopped when the keep was completely out of sight. He turned, facing Zant where he stood a fair distance away from him.

“Very well. How does it begin?”

Ghirahim could not help but smile at the question. The moonlight shone down upon them, their silhouettes standing stark against the barren landscape. He was sure that the washed out moonbeams enhanced his already breath-taking appearance. His hair looked marvelous in such lighting.

But he’d look impossibly more glorious in just a moment.

What little light that surrounded him was suddenly extinguished, eclipsed by a pillar of shimmering black diamonds. His mantle melted from the physical plane. His false flesh dissolved into gleaming metallic perfection. Returning to his true form was like stepping out of a stuffy room and taking that first breath of fresh air. Freeing. Refreshing. Invigorating.

_Empowering._

The diamonds did not have time to dissipate. The moment his transformation was complete he shot out from the pillar towards the only target within miles.

Sword in hand, he charged at Zant with an intent to kill.

The ritual had finally begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry for this, but I try my best not to lie. I love each and every one of you dearly but you know I had to do it to em.


	7. unfortunate sincerity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic could be a volatile thing. Certain forms more so than others. The closer a type of magic was tied to the essence of the mage, the easier it was for the magic to act on its own without the users conscious command. If something caused harm to a body, the bodies systems would reject it. Likewise, if magic was threaded into a mage’s heart, and something caused harm to that heart…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really fuckin pumped to hear y'all's reactions to this one. Seriously the whole time i was writing it i was like 'aaaa what are they gonna think!!!!' so uh yeah! tell me what you think! ♥

Betrayal.

It was a difficult thing for anyone to take. It could happen only once and still it would take its toll. The pain of knowing the person you trusted wasn’t who you thought they were. Feeling like an imbecile for misjudging their character. Hating yourself for letting it happen. Even one betrayal in a lifetime could destroy someone.

Zant knew all of that, because few were as intimately acquainted with betrayal as he was. He had been on both sides to varying degrees. He had suffered smaller betrayals his whole life, leading to larger ones as he approached his coronation. Then the ultimate betrayal, an entire family agreeing that he was unworthy in their eyes. People he loved, who were supposed to love him in return, showing that he was nothing at all to them.

Then there was his own betrayal. They hadn’t expected it, hadn’t expected retribution for their own actions. He’d always been so loyal to them. He’d never given them any reason to think that he’d betray them, because they had never given him any reason to do so. It had felt so good, to look into their eyes and see the shock and fear, the despair. To know they would understand even a fraction of what they had done to him.

He had thought that he had weathered his share of treachery in his life. He thought he had learned from his mistakes, that he now knew no one could be trusted. That he wasn’t the naive young man he had been, that he was smarter, that he was stronger. He’d believed no one could ever hurt him in such a way ever again, because he thought he knew better than to trust anyone now.

It was only as Ghirahim rushed at him, blade in hand and fangs bared in a malicious grin, that he realized:

He had trusted Ghirahim.

He had known demons to be manipulative and callous. He had known them to be bloodthirsty. But Ghirahim had always been fiercely loyal to the Master and his cause. They had fought side by side, back to back. They had both saved each others lives on the field, could rely on each other professionally. He’d even covered for Zant’s breakdowns more than a few times without Zant ever asking him to.

Now Zant was offering to save his life, and Ghirahim was going to kill him for it.

There was an ache in his chest. An all-consuming thrum of pain that drowned out all else. Like a board being bent to a breaking point, tense and pushed too far, creaking under the pressure. It snapped. Splinters flying, the load it bore falling, everything coming apart. The ache became a stabbing pain, the despair became rage, and the empty gaze of resigned surprise became vicious defiance.

Magic could be a volatile thing. Certain forms more so than others. The closer a type of magic was tied to the essence of the mage, the easier it was for the magic to act on its own without the users conscious command. If something caused harm to a body, the bodies systems would reject it. Likewise, if magic was threaded into a mage’s heart, and something caused harm to that heart…

Zant had brought his magic into his very soul. He had merged it with his essence, had blended it with his entire being. He was his magic, his magic was him, and at the moment? At the moment, he was in pain. At the moment, he was furious. At the moment, a deep growl resonated in his chest, and as that growl grew into a bone-rending wail, the magic grew with it. Wisps of shadow became thrashing waves of darkness. Runes shone brighter than any moonlight, sand was blasted back by the force of power.

It wasn’t even a fight. There was no clashing of blades, there was no true technique. There was no chance to dodge the blast, as the entire area around Zant became saturated with twilit energy. There was nowhere to go.

Ghirahim was blasted back as easily as the sand they stood on. He had never stood a chance.

As the demons back hit the ground, the keening cry of pain became a resonating growl. The whirling, uncontrolled tide of twilight was moved with conscious purpose, pulled aside and out of the way as Zant strode through the cleared path towards his betrayer. He passed the sword that had dropped from Ghirahim’s grip, and without slowing in pace he brought it to his hand with his magic.

Ghirahim appeared stunned, dazed by the twilight as he laid in the sand. The moonlight would have reflected off of the diamond in his chest, if the great clouds of twilight had not been blocking out the sky. As it was, in complete darkness, a sword was lifted above the demons essence.

He didn’t even see it coming as it was brought down.

The scream as the blade pierced his soul was not satisfying. Zant hadn’t expected it to be. Even after such vile betrayal, he could not take pleasure in Ghirahim’s pain. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes. He wished it would stop hurting so much.

The bleak shadows surrounding them were split apart by the light that shone through as the sword sunk into Ghirahim’s very being. It kept going, even as Zant released it. The demon’s breathing was ragged and labored, chest heaving and fingers clawing at the sand.

Despite how light hurt his eyes, Zant could not pull them away.

It was there that he saw it, and there that he felt it. Something deep within Ghirahim’s core, beckoning him to take action. He braced himself as he reached a hand into the light. His hand closed around something that seemed specifically made for it. He could see Ghirahim grit his teeth as he pulled.

Zant was an intelligent man. Even in his emotional state, dots began to connect.

He had not been betrayed.

Fighting Ghirahim was the ritual.

It seemed so obvious in retrospect. How had he not realized? The swirling darkness around them receded, dissipating and allowing the moon to illuminate them once more. It only made it all the more obvious how Ghirahim was writhing in pain as Zant extracted the blade.

He was unsure what to do next. Pull it out quickly so as to get it over with? He tried that, but the way Ghirahim’s back arched and the choked off cry of pain put a stop to that. Easing it out seemed the easiest on him.

“I don’t understand,” Zant began, shaking his head at a loss. “Why would something necessary to your survival be designed to cause you such pain?”

“My comfort was not exactly the top priority during my creation.” Came the strained reply. “Just do it. Don’t think of it.”

“I don’t want to make it worse than it has to be.”

“It does not matter, Zant.”

“Yes,” he replied softly. “It does.”

Ghirahim gazed at him in confusion, but said nothing more. The blade was nearly out, and arguing would be pointless. Zant reached out his free hand, settling it on the demons shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Finally the entirety of the blade was extracted. The blade in his hand was not the same one that had entered Ghirahim’s chest. It was sleek and curved, like an obsidian replica of his scimitars. It held a deadly edge, and weighed nearly nothing at all in his hand. It was beautiful. It seemed to emanate a _lack_ of light, swallowing any brightness around it into a vacuum of darkness. That darkness grew strongly for a moment, and as it melted away the blade went with it, returning to Ghirahim's core in a splash of diamonds.

There was a loud gasp as Ghirahim desperately breathed in unobstructed, then sighed slowly in relief. Zant sat on the sand beside where his companion lay, watching in distress as he caught his breath.

“...You should have told me. I would not have hurt you so badly if I’d known-”

“It had to be sincere.” Ghirahim managed. “It had to be a true battle with the intent to kill, or else the ritual would not succeed. You had to truly defeat me with a desire to end me. If there was another option, believe me, I’d take it.” Of course he would, Zant thought. This one caused him so much pain.

But Ghirahim took him by surprise.

“I know how you feel about betrayal.” Slowly, he regained his usual form, eyes gazing straight up at the sky. “I may enjoy teasing you, but I would not seek to cause you such distress if given the choice.”

His eyes slipped closed. Zant had never seen Ghirahim look so exhausted.

He had also never heard Ghirahim admit that he would ever be considerate of others feelings.

Carefully, trying his best not to jostle him too badly, Zant slid his arms beneath Ghirahim’s knees and shoulders. The fact that the sword spirit did not so much as complain as he was lifted was surely a testament to his exhaustion. His head lolled against Zant’s shoulder, eyes opening halfway only briefly before falling closed again.

Without taking his eyes off of Ghirahim’s face, Zant opened a twilight portal with his remaining magic, and stepped through.


	8. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he had not the energy to remain aware much longer, he had gathered enough wits about him to process three things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. I'm currently moving into my new apartment. Things are hectic and I'm away from my computer. I managed to text this piece of fluff in my phone notes though.
> 
> I hope it doesn't have too many errors. I didn't get the chance to go over my usual editing steps.
> 
> Hopefully this offers a brief reprieve from the drama, because it'll get harder for them from here.
> 
> Hopefully this fic isnt getting too off the rails for you guys.

Full-blooded demons did not sleep. They need not need to, and they were not capable of it.

They could, however, enter a deep state of meditation similar to sleep. Few chose to do this, as it left a being vulnerable while they rested, and demons tended to be rather vigilant creatures. Typically it was only a state a demon found themselves in after exhausting the vast majority of their power and not having enough left to run on.

Such was the state Ghirahim found himself in post-ritual. He was aware that he was unaware, but he was unaware of all else outside of that. He felt himself be picked up, even briefly managed to open his eyes, but they saw nothing and he could not process what any of it meant. He recognized when he was laid down on something soft, but could not conclude that it was a bed. He could not reason that Zant had brought him back to the keep. He could not remember that he'd been with Zant at all.

He barely existed at all, in that state, and he remained barely existing for a stretch of time he could not measure. It could have been less than a minute. It could have been months.

He did not have the presence of mind to hope it was not the latter.

Coherent thought was not the first thing to return to him. Quite the opposite, he became more fully aware of physical sensation before anything else. He could tell that he was lying down. He could tell he was beneath blankets in a bed, head resting on a pillow. He processed that someone must have put the blankets on him, but that was as far as he got.

He felt the chill of the room outside the blankets, and the warmth of a being beside himself. His hazy sense of awareness locked onto that and, with no conscious intent from his mind, he began to shift towards it. He did not truly suffer from the heat or the cold, but the warmth of another was a pleasant sensation regardless of how tired he felt.

When he came up against the person laying beside him, the warmth that bloomed in the hidden diamond core of his true form dwarfed the warmth of that person. He hummed a low sound of appreciation, sighing as he pressed closer. He practically clawed his way onto whoever it was. He did not care about anything else in that moment.

His ears twitched as they finally processed sound. A soft grunt of surprise, drowsy and sounding as aware as Ghirahim felt. The body against him tensed. It did not relax, even as it lifted arms hesitantly, wrapping them around the demon atop it. It was only when that demon sighed again, practically purring as he nuzzled against the crook of the creatures neck, that it finally seemed to calm beneath him.

Though he had not the energy to remain aware much longer, he had gathered enough wits about him to process three things. 

One, the ridiculously long, lanky frame he was curled upon was almost certainly Zant. Two, if that were true, he was currently curled up on Zant. He was _cuddling_ Zant.

The final and most jarring realization was this: 

He was perfectly fine with the first two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the meditation thing was taken from how elves work in dnd. Not even gonna pretend that one was mine lol


	9. compulsion and impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His chest held such anxiety, but his head begged to differ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long and I'm sorry if it doesn't meet expectations. I had some trouble making myself do this. I know y'all are very patient and I thank you for that, but if I didn't get it done soon then I'd put it off forever so... I kind of had to just. Go for it. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Ghirahim did not leave upon waking.

He extracted himself from Zant’s arms, certainly, and he did not linger in bed longer than necessary. But he did not leave the room. There was nowhere else he needed to be, strictly speaking, so there was no real need to leave. He simply did not want to, and as a Demon Lord he was entitled to do what he wanted.

It was just an impulse. An idle curiosity.

It had nothing to do with the steady thrum of the bond in his chest, insisting that he must be near his Master in case he was needed. What would he do if he left, and someone attacked his Master in his sleep? What if his Master was injured or killed because Ghirahim had been negligent?

His chest held such anxiety, but his head begged to differ. Zant was a very capable mage, he had proven as much a thousand times over. If he was so weak as to be killed simply because Ghirahim took a walk, then he wasn’t worthy of the bond in the first place. They were in the heart of their own heavily guarded keep. There were wards all about the place to protect them, and Zant would be in no danger without Ghirahim there.

So, he reasoned, he was not staying because of the bond. He was staying because that’s what he wanted to do.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by a surprised squeak from the bed. He turned to see tousled red hair, and shining orange eyes staring back at him.

“Finally,” Ghirahim began, a hand on his hip. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake.”

“You did not have to wait, Ghirahim.” Zant tilted his head, questioning. “In fact, I expected you’d be long gone.”

“Well, thankfully I am not nearly that predictable.” He expected some sort of witty barb in response, but was met only with silence. Zant tilted his head in the other direction.

“... _Can_ you leave?”

Ghirahim raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“You think the ritual binds me to your side?” He sounded quite amused at the prospect.

“Does it not?”

“No, darling, it does not.”

“Don’t call me darling.” A sterner tone. An order from a King.

“As you wish, dear.”

“And don’t- Hm. Are you… Truly bound to do as I say now?”

Ghirahim heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Not strictly speaking. I’m… compelled to do as you say. It is something I can resist, but for something as unimportant as a pet name it really isn’t worth the effort.” He watched as Zant mulled this over in his head. Half of him expected the self-proclaimed king to start spouting orders left and right.

The other half was noticing how exhausted the twili looked. When Ghirahim questioned him, it came out softer than intended.

“...You used quite a bit of magic during the ritual, didn’t you?”

Zant tensed, likely becoming hyper-aware of how such a weakened state could be exploited. It seemed for a moment as if he might lie, only for him to close his eyes in resignation as he answered. 

Neither of them were sure if that was a show of trust or a result of exhaustion.

“Most of it, yes. What I did not use, I spent bringing us back here. I did not remain conscious for long after yourself.”

“Yet I am recovered now, and you are not.”

“My magic is. But…” He hesitated, opening his eyes to examine Ghirahim carefully. What he was looking for, the demon could not say, but he seemed to find it. “There is always a price, with my magic. Using too much at once… it takes a toll. I need to rest.”

“Then rest.” The sword spirit shrugged. Zant was already shaking his head.

“I cannot. There is too much I need to do. I’ve already slept away too much time and-”

“Zant.” Ghirahim cut him off sternly. “You are no good to anyone if you collapse in the middle of a delicate task. Rest. I can cover for you today. It isn’t as if it’s never happened before.”

“I’ve no idea why you would do such a thing for me.”

“Aside from the fact that you are my Master now?”

“As you said, it is not as if it’s never happened before. Even before all of… this. You’ve covered for me, when I was… indisposed." A delicate word for ‘sobbing hysterically in his bedroom closet.' "I've never been able to puzzle out why you would do so.”

 

“Well now, my delicate twilit monarch,” Ghirahim began, approaching the bed with a distinctly amused expression. “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I simply… like you?”

“No.”

A quick, honest answer. Not self-pitying, not depressed. A simple assumed truth, laced with surprise at the mistake in that assumption. Ghirahim brought his gloved hand up, fingers brushing Zant’s hair back from its bedraggled state. The twili’s long ears twitched in response.

“What a shame.” The demon sighed, tilting his head, eyes never leaving the ones shining back at him. “Perhaps one day I’ll simply have to demonstrate.”

“...Demonstrate?” Came the dazed, confused reply. Ghirahim could not help but grin. Oh, but the Twilight King was so easy to play when he was tired. A pleasant change from his usual observant nature.

“Mhmm.” The sword spirit purred, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “Show you just how much I like you. Make you like me as well. I’m quite skilled at such things, you know. Though, I’m quite skilled at just about everything.”

The boast went ignored as Zant replied softly.

“I already like you, Ghirahim.”

The grin dropped, lips parted in surprise and eyes widening almost to the size of Zant’s own. For a moment he could have sworn the diamond in his chest was being pierced once more.

He backed away, as if he had never even been there.

“...Rest easy, Master.” He spoke in a new tone, something flat despite his performative nature. “I will ensure all is taken care of while you rest.”

He bowed, a hand on his chest and one arm folded behind his back.

He straightened his posture, snapped his fingers, and was gone in a fountain of diamonds.

If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he felt a fissure run deep within his soul.


	10. a pastime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They did not speak again as Ghirahim led him from the keep and over the sand. Not until they’d been walking long enough that the keep was out of sight over the dunes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been too pleased with these past few chapters, but this one... I'm pretty proud of this one. I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think ♥ As always, every comment is appreciated!

The headache lingered long after his recovery. 

His magic was completely restored. His body had mended and his thoughts felt less brittle and breakable. But even as the ache left the rest of his body, it did not leave his head. It wasn't particularly bothersome, aside from making it much harder to focus on his master's words.

The debrief went by, and Zant was ashamed to say he had retained none of what had been said. He had nodded when appropriate, answered when prompted, but processed nothing. Even afterwards, as he meant to return to his chambers, he did not notice someone approaching him. Not until they were already speaking.

"You're doing quite the formidable job of impersonating a Redead." Ghirahim fell into step beside him as they exited the war room. There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but it dropped into something more serious as he continued. "I hadn't expected your recovery to take this long."

"It's just a headache," Zant replied in a low mumble. His throat still felt a bit sore, but that wasn’t from magic. That was from all the wailing he had done during the ritual. "A consequence of draining so much of my magic so quickly without proper preparations."

There was no answer from beside him, which struck him as strange. When he looked, Ghirahim was watching him with a peculiar expression. His eyes were sharp and narrow as they studied him. He was frowning. But then his face lit up, a smile overtaking his features as an idea came to mind, and Zant…

Zant could've sworn his heart stopped. It stuttered in his chest, and the lungs on either side of it refused to take in air. There was a fluttering sensation behind his ribs. He could not take his eyes off of Ghirahim even if he had wanted to.

And he very much did not want to.

"Come with me." The demon finally requested, going from beside him to in front of him in one smooth motion, halting Zant's stride. It took him a moment to summon up any voice at all, and when he did it came out without the suspicion he was trying to muster.

"Where?"

"Somewhere you'll like."

"For what purpose?"

Ghirahim seemed taken aback by that question. Like he did not know the answer. He recovered quickly, but smiling much less genuinely than before.

"Do I need a reason to tend to my Master's well-being?"

The answer killed whatever fluttering thing had bloomed in his chest. His voice regained the regal tenor he preferred.

"Ghirahim, I may be your Master as far as being the wielder of your sword, but I have no interest in your subservience." Everyone else's, yes. But Ghirahim…

Ghirahim did not belong on his knees before a throne. He belonged on that throne or standing beside it, tall and magnificent. Powerful and beautiful. He may have been created to be a servant, but his existence was too glorious for such a thing. He shone too brightly to follow in the shadow of any Master.

Zant had always abhorred the Light. He was born in Darkness. He had grown up in the harsh shroud of Twilight. He loathed the world of Light and all it contained. He hated the sun and pitied the moon. He wished to snuff candles and shade windows. He had never wanted Light.

But oh, how he adored the way Ghirahim shined.

That was the only sort of light he wanted anywhere near him.

Zant sighed, eyes closing for a moment as he fought against the throbbing in his skull.

"If you are only bothering with this out of obligation, then do not worry yourself."

He opened his eyes when he heard Ghirahim heave a large, overly-dramatic sigh. Just in time to catch him rolling his eyes.

"Fine then. If you won't let me worry over you as your Sword, then allow me to worry over you as your..." He struggled for a moment. "Person that likes you."

"... Friend?" Zant suggested. Ghirahim just scoffed and shook his head at the twili.

"Regardless. Will you join me?" When Zant hesitated, Ghirahim scowled. "By all means, keep questioning me and my intentions. Perhaps it will shake me from this foolish sentiment."

"Fine." Zant acquiesced, still trying to work out what exactly was happening. Even if Ghirahim said this was because he liked him, that did not make it true. Demons lied. It was one of their most infamous talents. It was in their nature, and Ghirahim was definitely lying about liking him in any capacity.

Was it a trick? A trap? Well. His magic had recovered. He'd be prepared, and he'd be on his guard.

“Zant.” An exasperated tone cut off his mental reasoning. “There’s no need to be so suspicious. I only attacked you as a part of the ritual. There is no need for me to do such a thing again.”

“So you say.”

There was no need for Zant to ask how Ghirahim could know he was suspicious of his intentions. Not when he could feel an odd echo of restless irritability on the very edges of his consciousness. Not when that irritation was not at all his own.

They did not speak again as Ghirahim led him from the keep and over the sand. Not until they’d been walking long enough that the keep was out of sight over the dunes.

“Will you never let that go?” The demon looked back at him, not quite a glare but certainly not pleased.

“That you attacked me?”

“As a necessary part of the ritual, yes.”

Zant said nothing. Ghirahim groaned in annoyance.

“It isn’t as if there were other options, Zant. It was not something I did simply to revel in your pain.”

“And yet I am certain you did so all the same.”

The area in his mind that was aware of their Bond was typically not at the forefront of his thoughts. So far, it had been in the background. A vague awareness of a mild impression of a shadow of what Ghirahim was feeling. Barely anything at all.

The moment the words left his lips, his breath was taken from him by the sheer shocking intensity of outrage coming from the edges of his mind. A sudden, swirling, all-consuming storm of ferocious denial, of offence, of rage and indignation.

It was gone as suddenly as it came. Floodgates slammed down to stem the flow, muffling the roar to the point that Zant would not notice it at all if he hadn’t been made aware of it.

“Ghirahim.” His voice came out hoarse as if he’d just swallowed a handful of blistering hot desert sand.

“It has been a while since I’ve had to monitor my end of a Bond.” The sword spirit explained, but that wasn’t what Zant meant to question. The did not stop the demon from getting defensive. “You’re no better, Usurper. I dread the first time I will be mentally exposed to one of your tantrums.”

Zant ignored his words.

“Ghirahim. You have always taken pride in your sadistic nature. You revel in the suffering of others. Why would you be so incensed by someone expecting something of you when you clearly expect it of yourself?”

“Because it was not _someone_ , you Twilight-blind fool.”

“I think you will find that I am, indeed, someone.”

“No. A someone could be anyone.”

Zant opened his mouth to demand the demon cease speaking in riddles, but he was cut off as Ghirahim came to an abrupt stop. Zant hadn’t realized it, but they had finally reached the face of a towering cliff. There was a large section carved out of the stone wall, too smooth to have been man-made. Perhaps a natural formation created over millennia of annual flash floods and erosion.

He followed Ghirahim into the cave, his eyesight improving significantly as they delved deeper into the cave. The shelter from the sun was also very welcome, and Zant basked in the chilled shadows.

“Here.” Ghirahim stopped once more, and Zant startled when he felt a hand close around his sleeve and tug him down to sit on the cold cave floor. For a moment Zant thought that was the end of it. Just a dark, cool area where he could sit in comfort.

Ghirahim snapped his fingers.

There was no blinding flash of light. No need to shield his eyes or look away. Just a dim glow floating before them, and the beauty it revealed.

The walls of the cave came alive. Shaking, shimmering light shining from Ghirahim’s magic and reflecting off of whatever sparkling mineral made up the cavern. Crystalline formations hung from the ceiling and sprouted from both the stone beneath them and the walls around them. The gems danced in the gentle luminescence, and something about it sang so sweetly of home that Zant felt himself choke up, felt teal tears gather in his eyes and slide down his cheeks.

He managed to drag his eyes from it and look at Ghirahim beside him. The demon looked infuriatingly smug, though Zant supposed he had a right to be proud of himself. More than that though, he was… Well. Breathtaking would not be the right word. That was his default state. But despite remaining in his form of flesh rather than shining obsidian, he seemed to reflect the light more brilliantly than any part of the gem-lit cavern.

Somehow, looking at Ghirahim seemed to choke Zant even more so than the reminder of home. He couldn’t breathe past the beauty. He couldn’t speak past the admiration. He could taste adoration on his tongue, and it was suffocating him so wonderfully.

A shuddering exhale pulled him from his thoughts, and when he looked back to Ghirahim’s face the smugness was gone. Zant could not quite decipher what replaced it, but when the demon spoke it was in a shaking whisper.

“You really do feel everything with such… intensity. How can you bear it?”

It took Zant a moment to clear his throat and take in a breath. Even then, his voice was an absolute wreck.

“I can’t.”

That made Ghirahim laugh, but it was unlike the laughter Zant had heard from him before. There was nothing performative in it. Nothing dramatic. Just an honest expression of amusement. 

That laugh was everything.

“But you know… It would not hurt to express some of those feelings outwardly.” The mischief was back, grin and tone in tandem. Still, Zant could not banish the fondness he felt.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” He admitted softly. Ghirahim was already sitting close to him, pressed arm to arm, but he leaned in as he spoke.

“You could tell me what you think when you look at me.” He suggested. “Or you could tell me how attractive you find me, or how charming….” A gloved hand found its way to the side of Zant’s face, thumb wiping away a streak of teal. “Or, if you find words too feeble… You could kiss me.”

Ghirahim was already leaning in so closely. It would be the easiest thing in the world to close that distance.

But, as always, Zant could not stop overthinking.

“Ghirahim. Is this… I told you before if you are only doing this because I wield your Sword and this is what I want- If it isn’t something you actually want then-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

The hand on his face slid to the back of his head and pulled him forward. Ghirahim pressed his lips to Zant’s with intent, like he had something to prove. His mind went blank and the floodgates broke open, spilling a sudden rush of desire from the edges of his mind to mix with his own. If he had thought his own feelings were intense, it was only made more potent by the constant stream of want pouring from the other end of the Bond.

Zant couldn’t help the sound he made. It started as surprise and melted into something he was loathed to describe as "desperate." He pressed back into the kiss, trying to reciprocate without letting his lack of experience show. He felt Ghirahim’s fingers grip onto his hood and pull it down in a sharp motion, immediately letting it drop in favour of tangling his fingers in Zant’s hair. The angle was awkward, and it seemed they realized that at the same time. Ghirahim moved to straddle Zant as hands settled on his hips to move him into just such a position. The transition was seamless, and the synchronicity continued. Ghirahim surged forward as Zant pulled him closer.

Zant opened his mouth for a breath, and immediately Ghirahim’s long tongue took the opportunity to enter. Zant wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t a tongue tracing his sharp teeth slowly like it was an experience to be savoured. He felt Ghirahim moan into his mouth more than he heard it, and the shudder that shook through the demon sent a thrill through the twilit king.

The only problem with it all was… Zant had no idea what to do. He had acted on instinct through all of it, but he had no practical experience to pull from. No frame of reference. He’d never even kissed someone on the cheek before, how was he to know what to do with a demon in his lap and another's tongue in his mouth?

He didn’t have time to panic, however, as Ghirahim ended the kiss. He stayed close, pressed against the twili, faces a mere inch apart.

“Does this seem like a mere obligation to you?” There was gravel in the demon’s voice, something low and dangerous that made Zant whine quietly. “If I had my way, my twili, I’d have had you ages ago.”

“Ages ago?” Zant tilted his head, ears twitching with curiosity. “You can’t have possibly cared for me for so long a time.”

“Cared for you?” That made Ghirahim draw back, blinking with surprise. “Absolutely not. But you needn’t care for someone to desire them.”

Ah. There it was.

All at once, Zant’s mind cleared. The spell was broken and the dream had ended. Everything suddenly made so much more sense to him. Carefully, he maintained an expression devoid of all feeling. He was not quite sure how to guard his feelings from Ghirahim as the other had done, but he attempted it all the same.

“... Of course. I simply misspoke.” The suffocating fondness gave way to nauseating dread. He always did this. Always gave all of himself to people who wanted none of him. Always invested into something he’d get nothing from. Did he simply have a predilection for people who could never love him? Or was it simply that no one ever would?

Was he not good enough? Was it his appearance? His personality? His lack of a proper throne? Or was it...

“... One of the books I read mentioned that ah… for demons, these sorts of things are…”

Ghirahim raised an eyebrow in clear amusement.

“Sex is a pastime for most of us, yes.” He purred, and if he noticed anything amiss with Zant he certainly didn’t show it.

A pastime. Zant was a pastime. Something to stave off boredom, but not something to really be bothered with otherwise.

He should’ve just taken a nap after the meeting.

“Is it not so for the twili?”

Zant opened his mouth to say no. No, it wasn’t. For his people, physical intimacy was saved for someone special. They didn’t have a drive for such things until they found someone that was dear enough to them to ignite it. The sexual attraction came after the love settled in. Twili found their One, and that was that.

In theory, anyway. Zant had read many tragedies of those who found their One, but the feeling was not reciprocated. Or of people trying to stifle their attraction to someone they knew could never be their One. There was nothing magical about it that promised people to each other, it was just the way they worked. Twili were careful with their feelings. What they felt, they felt intensely, and when they hurt, they hurt intensely. Many of them thought it was a worthy trade off. That the risk of such pain was worth the chance of such bliss. But Zant...

It seemed to Zant that the hurt was all he’d ever get to feel.

In the end, he said none of those things out loud.

“...I need to leave.”

“What?” Ghirahim was clearly taken aback, even as he moved off of Zant to allow the other man to stand.

“I forgot, I have something that needs to be done. I apologize for my rudeness- This really was kind of you, Ghirahim.” He did not wait for a reply. He opened a portal, he stepped through. 

He left behind the demon, the cave, the shining light and glittering stone. He left behind the peace and the contentment and the reciprocated desire.

The hollow ache in his chest followed him through.


	11. fissure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My point is: You need to fix whatever this is. We can’t have our two lieutenants at odds come the next battle, and even aside from that… I really don’t know how long I can watch you two act like children before I send the whole keep up in flames.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's no excuse for how late this is. sorry. Honestly you can all thank almost-fun-doodles for this chapter coming out at all lol. I had completely lost motivation but then they drew something radical and this chapter popped into my head.

Zant avoided Ghirahim in the days that followed. He never said as much, but it was obvious even to the demon himself. The distance stung. Not in any sort of emotional sense, of course. That would be ridiculous. Sentimental nonsense. No, the sting was literal. A side-effect of their freshly formed bond, the further he was from his Master the more his core ached. It left him in an impressively foul mood, even by Ghirahim’s standards.

The anxiety was worse than the physical ache. The paranoid nagging that something would happen to Zant while they were separated, that Ghirahim was shirking his duty, that his Master would die again and it would be all his fault. Again.

Again.

He’d prefer physical pain.

He knew something he had said or done in the cave had been the cause of all this, but he could not for the life of him think of what it might’ve been. Zant had been receptive, both aloud and through their connections, but at some point when Ghirahim had been speaking the twili had cut off the connection completely…

It must have been something he said.

They had been discussing the nature of physical intimacy in their respective cultures. Ghirahim had asked about the twili and… Zant had shut down. Shut him out. Something about it all had obviously upset him but Ghirahim did not know nearly enough about the twili to know what it was.

The library would be useless to him. Nearly all Light World text regarding twili was clearly biased and made them out to be lesser beings. As base and brainless as moblins. The only other twili was the imp, and Ghirahim would not be associating with her. There was a chance she’d lie just to make mischief, and if Zant ever found out he’d associated with his most hated enemy…

Well, then there would truly be an unbridgeable gap between them.

So where was he to find information…?

“I would have thought you’d have better things to do than to remain here all evening.” A deep growl of a voice dragged him from his thoughts. He found himself in the meeting room within the keep, empty aside from himself and Volga looming over him. “The debrief ended hours ago.”

“And? I need not justify myself to you. If I wish to sit here and think then I shall do so.”

Volga’s eyes narrowed, fire swirling in yellow iris’. The fangs he bared as he spoke were truly something to behold… Perhaps if things did not work out with Zant, Ghirahim could see if the dragon had a bite as good as his bark.

“...You and the other one have been avoiding each other.” Volga noted, his intense gaze never wavering as he spoke. “Both of you have been especially impossible to deal with since that began, and you show no signs of fixing the problem any time soon.”

“Is there a point to your oh so brilliant observations, lizard?” The demon snapped. Volga crossed his arms, mouth twisting in a horrid scowl.

“My point is: You need to fix whatever this is. We can’t have our two lieutenants at odds come the next battle, and even aside from that… I really don’t know how long I can watch you two act like children before I send the whole keep up in flames.”

“Well then it seems to me the solution is simple!” He clapped his hands together cheerfully, smiling brightly at the dragon, the candle-light glinting dangerously off of his own pointed fangs. “Don’t watch us! Problem solved.”

The dragon was utterly unmoved. His expression, his stance, his tone… It all stood solid as stone in the face of Ghirahim’s derision.

“You are determined to drag this out.” Volga sounded not at all surprised by that. “You know, the solution to most interpersonal conflict is-”

“A duel?” Ghirahim guessed boredly, knowing full well of the dragon’s preoccupation with fighting and power.

“Talking. Communicating.”

“Coming from the single most taciturn fellow I’ve ever met?”

Volga shrugged.

“I’ve never had a need to do so, as I’ve never been close enough to someone to require such a thing. Nor do I wish to be. But I’ve been around for a very long time, and much of it was spent observing. Most of histories greatest battles, the most intense of rivalries, hatred and spite, much of it could have been avoided if people just spoke to each other.” He scoffed. “I’m glad they didn’t, in those cases, as the fighting was much more interesting to watch. But in this case…”

“In this case it’s really none of your business.”

“It’ll be my business if your foolishness gets my troops killed.”

“My foolishness!” Ghirahim exclaimed incredulously, standing suddenly with an unsteady laugh. “ _My_ foolishness! As if this is something I wished to happen?”

“It is something you are not attempting to resolve.”

“Yes I am!”

“No. You are sitting here, _wishing_ it would be resolved. Here’s a novel idea: If you don’t know why Zant is avoiding you, go up to him and ask.” He said it like it was so simple. “If you do know, then go talk about it. Swallow your pride, demon, or it will be the death of us all.”

“You’re looking very much like a kettle right about now.”

Volga stared at him blankly.

Ghirahim huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at the taller man.

“I’ll be off to find Zant, then.” He conceded.

“Good.”

“Not because of what you said!”

“Mhm.”

“I was going to do this in the first place!”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m going to peel your scales off one by one and sell your horns to the highest bidder.”

“I can hardly wait.”

 

\--

Finding Zant was easy.

Not because Zant was predictable or bad at hiding. No. But their connection did exactly what the name suggested: It connected them. If Ghirahim wished to teleport to his Master's side, then it didn’t matter where his Master was or if he knew his whereabouts. He would appear where he needed to be.

Zant clearly did not know that, as Ghirahim’s sudden appearance in a burst of diamonds startled a shrill shriek that bounced off of the cavern walls and left the demon's ears ringing-

Cavern walls.

Zant had gone to hide away in the cave Ghirahim had shown him.

Well. At least he seemed to like it.

“H-how did you-!?” Zant began, then his brain caught up with his surprise as he exhaled. “Ah. The bond.”

“Well aren’t you the smart one.” Ghirahim teased, noting the tension in Zant’s shoulders with a resigned ache in his chest. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Oh. Uh. I see. Does… our Master have need of me?” Zant wasn’t looking at him. How rude.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Then I don’t-”

“But I do.” Finally those bright eyes were on him, and warmth rushed from the gem in his chest, bleeding blissfully into the rest of his physical form. He took a breath to steady himself. “I need to talk to you, Master.”

“I told you, you don’t have to-”

“Well, you won’t let me talk to you as your friend, so what else am I to do?!” He did not mean for such pathetic desperation to show in his tone, but Zant was withdrawing from him before the conversation had even begun, and the demon swords very nature was screaming to not allow the distance to continue.

“Ghirahim…”

“I clearly upset you somehow. I don’t know what part of what I said was so offensive to you, and so I cannot even apologize for whatever slight I have committed. If an apology is even necessary.”

“It isn’t. You didn’t say anything wrong. I’ve just been…. Tired. Drained. I need time alone to recharge.”

“Oh Zant…” The demon sighed. “I know you’re smarter than this. You don’t truly think you can so easily lie to someone you’ve bonded souls with, do you?”

“I can certainly try.” He joked dryly, and that was so much better than the awkward, stilted speech from a moment before.

“You certainly can, though I would not advise it. Zant, I won’t beg.” Yet. “But I… dislike this distance you’ve put between us.” His hand raised to the place on his chest where his gem hid. He wasn’t entirely aware of the movement. Zant looked fretful.

“Does it hurt you?”

“Well, yes, but that’s not-”

He was interrupted by the sound of distress the twili made, hurrying closer with hands hovering uncertainly.

“I didn’t think- I mean, I should have asked if-”

“Zant.” Ghirahim stopped him, taking his hands and holding them tightly in his own. He ran his thumbs over the knuckles, gently. “The pain isn’t the problem.”

“I do not like that I’ve caused you pain, Ghirahim.” The usurper insisted in a lower tone, eyes focused solely on their hands.

“It seems I did something to cause you pain as well, yes? So we’re even.” Zant opened his mouth to protest, but Ghirahim didn’t give him the chance. “But you are my friend. We’ve been over this. I don’t… enjoy the idea of losing the only person in his army I can tolerate.”

“You aren’t going to lose me.”

“It seems as if I already have.” He admitted softly, loathed to say it aloud. Zant’s hands tightened around his own, then one let go. It hesitated for a moment before it was brought up to Ghirahim’s hair, fingers brushing through the strands. It occurred to the demon that Zant usually kept his hands very strictly concealed. Maybe he thought Ghirahim could not see them in the darkness.

“...I apologize. That wasn’t my intention. I just… I just needed time. I should have told you.” Another lie. Ghirahim frowned. The connection was blurred and muddled, turmoil and anguish. Lies and concealment and fabrication. Something Ghirahim could not be allowed to know.

Volga’s idea would bear no fruit, it seemed. Zant would not be speaking openly about it any time soon.

“...Will you cease this game of hide and seek?” He finally settled for that, sighing heavily. Zant hesitated to agree to even that. Then he nodded, decided.

“Yes. I… did not realize the lack of my company would be distressing for you.”

“Distressing isn’t the right word. Uncomfortable, boring,” lonely, “frustrating… So no more, or I will be forced to take drastic measures.”

“...I’ll admit that it wasn’t very pleasant for myself either.”

And so it was decided. They would carry on as they had, antagonizing and helping each other. Friends and co-lieutenants, Master and Sword. They would not talk about whatever was wrong, they would not settle whatever it was, and the distance would never truly be closed.

When Zant finally left the cave through a twilit portal, Ghirahim lingered for a moment before following him. There was a stabbing pain shooting through his chest, like something coming apart. It lasted for one breathtaking moment, the agony stunning him in its intensity, then it released its grip on him. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

He stepped through the portal, determined to believe it was nothing.


End file.
